


we've been migratory animals living under changing weather

by awsten



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Boys In Love, Christmas Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sensory Overload, Synesthesia, Trauma, it's literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awsten/pseuds/awsten
Summary: some days are worse than others, a tangible glimmer of hope facing a dark cloud.and sometimes, mornings are not good to richie.but eddie is there- so it's going to be okay.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	we've been migratory animals living under changing weather

**Author's Note:**

> just short fluff because i can't stop thinking about these two.

winters were made of hands clutching coats and thin blankets in the ever changing weather, watching your breath in the morning air one day, but feeling the sweat on the small of your back the next day. it was finally being able to dip your toes into slightly colder weather, no longer receiving the strange looks as you wore sweaters at inappropriate times.  
  
for richie, it was hearing the soft hum of christmas lights as he pulled the straps of his backpack ever so much closer to the center of his chest. panicked calls to eddie from shopping mall fitting rooms as his head felt underwater, drowning in his thoughts. his own senses would throw a party in his body, a party he did not want to experience.  
  
he would pin his hopes on eddie.  
  
eddie, who would slip into the fitting room stall within a half hour and lead him out with noise-canceling headphones stuffed over his tangled hair. who would turn off the lights, even if it meant a dark room, just because the noise was deafening to the other. who would remind him that sensory overload is not him being difficult or crashing, it is simply taking in too much at a single time.  
  
there were good days and bad days.  
  
bad days where richie would lay on the shower floor after he was done because he didn't want to hear water drops hit tile. days where even silverware cutting up breakfast felt like he was a slightly-less-cool julius caesar. those were the days where eddie would turn off all the lights in the house, turn everything electronic off for the day. bill would drop off food later so they didn't have to cook, for they would both be back in the bedroom, eddie's hands clutching at richie's shaking shoulders.

days where one of the seven disappearing for a few hours felt like they were seventeen again, when one by one, they moved away and forgot everything. richie and eddie planned everything for the distance, even going to the same college, but by the time they started, they didn’t even recognize each other in classes they had together. they didn’t even remember they were in the same class, not even vaguely remember each other’s faces in the crowd, until telling college stories that first night they were all back. richie and eddie may have made ‘always’ a promise, but that only turned into twenty seven years of missing someone you couldn’t remember.

days where it felt like he was drowning again in a sea of light, screaming and yanking at eddie as he just _laid there_ . it felt like everything was a horrific black again and that his brain had broken entirely. the blood was back on his hands, his shirt, his mouth. it was the memory of that desperate kiss, and the terrified hands clutching at his shirt as they rushed to the hospital. it was watching stan, who had just gotten out, disappear back into another ward for another few months because he felt so guilty for not being there. but mostly, it was the repetition of _eddie’s dead eddie’s dead eddie’s dead_ . it had only been a couple of months, but richie had the feeling he would never forget it.  
  
but there were better days, too.  
  
the days where richie would slip out of the house for a few hours, and eddie would notice a few more presents under the tree that night. nights where the two boys would crash on the couch instead, the larger blankets wrapped around their legs and arms loosely. days they had the radio on in the kitchen while they (attempted) to bake something, despite knowing it (most likely- at least if eddie was involved, even more so if bill was over) was going to come out practically inedible.

it was days when eddie would groan as richie’s hands never quite left him. it was when richie would lope fingers into belt loops and mutter something about making up the 27 years before dipping his head down. when it felt like they were teenagers again, tucked out of sight in eddie’s house and trying to keep quite. it was the hours of worship and reminding each other that despite the years, they still remember every inch of skin. it was when richie would make jokes about eddie’s mom again until eddie got his revenge. it was waking up with breakfast on the counter, and an apron tied around his midsection.

humming to songs on the radio he’d die before admitting to liking, turning up the car radio until it felt like he was back at a show again in los angeles. it was the seven of them running through the woods to the quarry like they were kids again, so terrified that they could care less about how many times they tripped and fell. it was screaming on cliffs, drinking until they couldn’t tell their rights from their lefts and falling asleep in a huge pile for the first time in years.

then there were days that were neither, a neutral gray, or a beige. there were days that richie’s head felt like it was turned ever so slightly on the wrong frequency. he felt outside of his body, like his body was an airport and he was just passing through.

and then there are days that are neither good, bad, or indifferent.  
  
"our heating sucks."  
  
the words are whispered softly into his neck, fingertips pulling at the loose fabric around his stomach. it feels like the whole world's on fire, but the fire inside richie has ceased to spark. warm hands press against the bare skin of his chest as they work their way under his shirt, like a tiny match that wanted to start something more.  
  
"says the boy who is constantly like a thousand degrees."  
  
"i'd be dead." richie hesitates before saying it, never sure how to approach the topic of death anymore. it was too close. they still can’t watch a lot of movies.  
  
"then this would be very creepy and slightly concerning." eddie smiles regardless, unphased, drawing richie in closer.  
  
"just slightly? i think god would be mortified, babe.” eddie rolls his eyes, but still lets out a small laugh. “just think of how bad you were wanting me to-”  
  
"shut up."  
  
eddie still had a trace of smoke on him, wrapped around his fingers and on his collarbones. it still lingered on richie as well, but not as prominently. on richie, it was like the remainders of a person, but for eddie, it was like a whole other person clutching to him. richie tastes it in his lungs as he takes in a deep breath.  
  
the night before still clung to them, the memories of crowding around the fire pit in the cold, watching their breath mix with the smoke, bill trying (and failing) to make s'mores for everyone. it was a night of taking chances and allowing the voice in the back of your head to make some rather questionable decisions, but a night to remember nonetheless.  
  
"how'd bill get home?"  
  
"bev.”

today was a gold or silver day, it was skin upon skin in the blue hour, waiting for the sun to come wrap its fingers over the horizon. holding onto the morning was the most common thing, not wanting to have to leave the cool comforts of your bed.

and there wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with that, it’s just richie is supposed to do things and he doesn’t want to be lazy staying in bed and bill isn’t gonna do anything today otherwise and eddie is going to be concer-

“richie?”

“yeah?”

“stop overthinking.”

richie tilts his head slightly, a barely noticeable nod as his fingers rest against his sternum, drumming carefully. his eyes are still closed, feeling worried fingertips wrap around his upper arm as oceans begin to stir inside his head. there was only a few sounds he picked up on, the sound of skin against sheets, the hum of the heater trying to play catch-up, a soft clicking of the clock on eddie’s bedside table, the fan on the ceiling.

“you’re okay.”

_i’m okay. i’m okay and this is going to pass._

“but- our thing, people are supposed to be here in four hours and it’s six in the fucking morning and i’m already having sensory overload and i just-”

“it’s our friends, richie. they know your limits, it’s okay. bill’s gonna be here, and ben, and bev, and stan, and mike-”

“it’s just another day, i’m going to be fine.” richie says that more for his own benefit, like he’s trying to convince himself that more than anyone else, so eddie stays quiet for a moment. there’s a small breath that leaves his mouth as richie traces his chest scar before pressing his palms into him again.

“i’m not leaving you again,” eddie whispers, taking richie’s face in his hands. richie just sees all the color in his eyes, the way the patch of skin on his cheek dips down and doesn’t puff out when he smiles, the way the left side of his mouth is slightly higher. “not ever.”

“pale yellow.” eddie smiles at the answer, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, their heads resting on necks as they gather their hands between them. “pale pink.”

“i’m so proud of you, you know?” eddie begins to whisper, closing his eyes as they speak. “you’ve come so far since everything. i can never make you forget what you saw, but i’ll give you enough memories to replace it a million times over.”

“you’re a masterpiece, richie tozier. my wi- she always asked why i loved you so much- and i never could respond. you were just _mesmerizing_. i always thought you felt like home and i never understood why- but i do now. i am fully and totally in love with you.”

“i love you so much. purple-violet.” richie cheeks are damp, smile turned so high it looks almost fake. “kiss me?”

“always.”

maybe things won’t always be okay, and things won’t always seem like they’ll make it. they each have their issues, their trauma. they will fight, argue, disagree. but in the end, they are home to each other. it doesn’t matter where or when. they have spent upwards of twenty years apart, but it took them two days to fall back together.

and richie will never not have his moments, he will always be like that. the sensory overloads will still happen, he will always interpret the world around him differently. but as long as that world has eddie in it, he knows it is a world he wants to be in.

“merry christmas, richie.”

“merry christmas, eddie.”

eddie didn’t die down there in richie’s arms. many many years later, the two would pass quietly holding hands in their beds surrounded by everyone they loved. they never existed apart again. and somewhere, out in derry, maine, two graves would lay side-by-side of two boys who never stopped loving.

**Author's Note:**

> i previously posted a very short version years ago under a different fandom here but i heavily changed it!
> 
> for clarification- i wrote the outline and about 700 words of this post-sensory overload when i was 15. most of the color descriptions match how mine are (there's a slight difference, but only if you squint). the exact type of synesthesia i have using that most aligns to what i have doesn't have an exact name, but is related to grapheme-color synesthesia, but is associating places, people, things, music, words, emotions, etc., with colors.
> 
> these boys deserve love and i will give it to them.
> 
> terry i hate u <3


End file.
